The Keeping of Words | Spencer Reid

52| A Promise to Keep

"Okay. Okay, hang on." He was trying not to panic as he jumped out of bed, racing to change out of his pajamas, grab their things, and find his car keys all at once. It was safe to say he'd never driven so fast in his life. Why was it suddenly so hard to think straight? It probably had something to do with his wife, her face contorted in pain in the passenger seat. When they finally reached the hospital she gripped his hand like a vise, either unable to let go, or too scared to do so.

With one hand he managed to place a few much-needed phone calls, alerting his team that whatever happened, he wasn't going anywhere. This was one event Reid was not willing to miss. Another notification was to Alex Blake, to let her know that her godchild was arriving early.

After that, there were questions to answer and scrubs to don and a short journey to a small room where they would be spending the next few hours. Bianca was desperate for a distraction from the pain, and so he searched the bag for some of the books he'd had the foresight to pack. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he read Whitman poems to her for hours until his voice began to feel hoarse and a parade of doctors and nurses entered the room.

From there, time passed in a blur.

Dr. Molina gave her medicine, reminded her how to breathe. Reid tried his best to repeat their encouragements and make her laugh between breaths. Eventually it got to the point where she struggled to even muster a smile, and he knew that it was all happening, that this was very, very real.

As the minutes slid by, her fingers clenched his even tighter, her face was red, her tears became a wail, and he would've done anything to make it better, to make it stop. There were words coming from the doctors but he wasn't paying attention, medical jargon that he would've understood at any other time but not here, not now, not when Bianca needed him.

"What if I'm a bad mother?" Her question came out in a gasp between contractions.

"You won't be. Bianca, you are incredibly patient. You have the kindest heart and the brightest smile and all the best stories. I know for a fact that they're going to love you."

"I don't know if I can do this," she cried, squeezing his hand so hard he was sure it would leave a mark.

"I know you can," he told her. "I promise you can do this. I'm going to be by your side the whole time." She looked at him and he desperately wished he could take the pain from her brown eyes, but he was going to get her through this. No matter how long it took, he would make sure she made it through this. She was the strongest person he knew.

More breathing. More doctors. More time. Hours, minutes. Inhales, exhales. Tight grip. A scream.

And then suddenly, she wasn't the only one crying.

Where there had been five people in the room, there were now six, the newest addition in the arms of the obstetrician with thick glasses; a new set of lungs whimpering and bawling and taking in air for the first time.

He wrapped Bianca in a hug, kissing her damp forehead. "You did it. You did so good," he murmured. She only squeezed his hand in response, still catching her breath.

"Mr. Reid?" the nurse asked, and for once he didn't feel the need to correct someone with the proper title. "Would you like to meet your daughter?"

"Daughter?" he asked, breathless.

"It's a girl," the nurse told him. And then the woman was placing this tiny human being into his arms, swaddled in a blanket. She was so small and so pink, her eyes were so big and he never in his life had felt this way before. In all his years as an agent the urge to protect someone, to keep them safe, had never been quite so strong, and the countless times a parent asked if he had children all made sense to him now.